


The Prayer

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Tall She Was and Golden-Skinned [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crossover, Dragon Age Quest: In Hushed Whispers, Elder Scrolls Lore, Emotional, Gen, Gods, Nine Divines, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: After successfully surviving the In Hushed Whispers quest, Airanarie, an Altmer from Tamriel transported into Thedas, stops to give a prayer of thanks to her gods.





	The Prayer

After the Inquisition returned from Redcliffe, hand in hand with the rebel mages, whom they had embraced as equals (a Herald from a distant world where magic is celebrated far more than it is feared would not have had it any other way) and with a chained Tevinter magister in tow (a gift from the King of Ferelden to show his trust in their judgement), there were many hectic preparations to engage in. Locking their maleficar prisoner in a dungeon. Making certain that their new allies settled in comfortably. Mustering all their resources for an upcoming march to close the Breach. A lot was to be done, and in the midst of racing around and pointing and counting and yelling, nobody noticed that the hero of the day, the odd golden-skinned elf from the Fade that they hailed as the Herald of Andraste, had snuck off, away from the bustling, stomping crowd and the puffs of acrid smoke that rose from the smithies as the workers hurried to reinforce the mages’ gear.  
  
  
  
Leaving Haven behind her, she raced around the bank of the frozen lake, casting a distorted reflection in the clear black mirror of ice, and climbed up a snowy hill, her tall figure dark against the blaze of pink and green that raged in the Fade-touched sunset sky. Once at the top, she found a solitary fur tree, which swayed slightly in the nippy cold breeze, and sank to her knees in the circle of dark, dry, needly-strewn soil at its roots, where the lower branches, massive and fuzzy like the paws of some great green-coated beast, had prevented the snow from covering the ground.  
  
  
  
After settling there, she slid her eyes shut and remained perfectly still for a few moments, with the skin between two of her jutting brow ridges - a kind of bone structure quite unseen among the Thedosian elves - creased by a frown of concentration… And perhaps pain. It took her some effort to pull herself from her wordless musings back to reality, a shiver running up her spine (which may not have been caused by the cold alone) - and when she did finally tear her eyes open, she drew a sharp, shallow breath, and slowly raised her hands, palms upwards, as tiny sparks of magic were just beginning to swell on the pads of her fingertips.  
  
  
  
Soon enough, these sparks clustered together, trails of blue glow swirling after them, and formed a floating symbol, like a minisclue constellation glittering an inch or so above the Herald’s slightly cupped hands. She took another breath, her eyes brimming over with a splashing, liquid reflection of her own magic, and then blew gently at the constellation, sending it into a smooth glide until it attached itself to one of the for branches as if it were an enchanted Satinalia ornament.  
  
  
  
Just as it took its place, the Herald moved her thin, chapped lips, whispering to herself in a tongue that no-one in Thedas would have understood without the aid of a spirit. A quiet prayer to a god whose domain lay far beyond the borders of this world - be it its physical, solid half, or the broiling green crucible beyond the dividing Veil, where visions and nightmares took their ever-changing form.  
  
  
  
After she was finished, the Herald rekindled her magic to craft another symbol, and yet another, and another still, setting them all off to latch to the overhanging paws of the fir. And murmuring prayer after prayer, each time honouring a new god.  
  
  
  
‘I praise thee, Julianos,’ she had breathed in sombre gratitude when following the very first symbol with her gaze - a glimmering blue triangle crisscrossed by entwining lines and arcane runes. 'For we have culled the tide of wild magic that would have unravelled the world’.  
  
  
  
The triangle was followed by the ethereal of a tiny dragon, hugging itself with its starlight-speckled wings.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Akatosh,’ the Herald said, as the dragon took its place on the fir branch. 'For we have healed the break in time that would have turned the future into a waking nightmare’.  
  
  
  
After that, she conjured a simpler symbol, reminiscent of a clear, sky-blue teardrop.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Kynareth,’ she prayed, reaching forward and gently stroking the coarse bark of the fir tree. 'For most of the land and the air is now clear of the corruption that would have twisted this world beyond recognition’.  
  
  
  
The droplet was joined by a shining magical blossom, and as it opened its petals amid the hardened green needles of the fir, the Herald’s jaw tightened, and she had to swallow a large lump before she could bring herself to continue speaking.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Dibella,’ she said, her voice cracking. 'For my companions’ bodies are whole again, with no red crystals devouring them from within like… like parasites’.  
  
  
  
After the blossom, came the geometric shape of a circle, spinning endlessly within a many-angled frame.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Arkay,’ the Herald breathed out, her reverent pose disturbed by another shudder. 'For we have prevented to many needless deaths. And… And a noble, good-hearted young man is no longer destined to become a vile, ghoulish perversion of nature, instead facing his fate with dignity’.  
  
  
  
The symbol that she conjured after the circle had the silhouette of a blacksmith’s anvil - and when it settled in its spot along the tree branch, the Herald said,  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Zenithar - for the hard work we have been doing to achieve our goal has borne the fruit we wanted. We are stronger now, and can finally face the Breach’.  
  
  
  
Then, another geometric shape came; another circle - but in a frame of soft knotwork loops rather than stark angles.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee Mara,’ the Herald, again, came close to choking, and had to briefly rest one hand on her throat. 'For I… I have avoided losing the people that I have come to care about’.  
  
  
  
When this little prayer was complete, she resumed her spellcasting with renewed determination tracing the silhouette of a curving horn.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Stendarr,’ she said, giving herself an assured nod. 'That I have… saved a man that would have become a monster, and have been given a chance to offer him penance’.  
  
  
  
That made eight symbols in all. Eight gods from a pantheon worshipped in a realm where the Herald truly belonged; a realm that she never would have left were it not for an impossible magical accident.  
  
  
  
But she did not stop at that. Clenching and unclenching her fists, while a vein bulged thickly along her neck, she braced herself to add a ninth symbol. One that it was heresy to display among the people who had counted her as their own. Once.  
  
  
  
'I praise thee, Talos’, she said, quietly yet clearly, articulating each syllable with a subtle note of stubborn ferocity. 'For it was the resourcefulness and courage of a human that made it all possible'. 

**Author's Note:**

> I guess that, what with Airanarie being an Altmer, it would have been more logical to have her address Auri'El rather than Akatosh - but I wanted a more mainstream lore reference that would be recognizable. ^^


End file.
